


How The Winchesters Got In Touch With Their Feminine Sides

by IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt



Series: How The Winchesters Got In Touch With Their Feminine Sides [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actually timelines do not exist in this story, Angst and Fluff, Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Coming Out, Cursed Dean Winchester, Cursed Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Hates Witches, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame Destiel, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Genderbending, Homophobic John Winchester, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I hope, Internalized Homophobia, It's that time of the year again... WITCHES, Just roll with it I promise it's worth it, Light Angst, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Prostitution, Periods, Pregnancy Scares, Slurs, Tags will be updated as the story is written, Temporarily Female Dean Winchester, Temporarily Female Sam Winchester, The M/F is Female!Dean and Cas, Witch Curses, Yeah there might eventually be sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 19,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt
Summary: Witches turn Sam and Dean temporarily female. Hijinks ensue.Endgame Destiel but first they gotta get their shit together.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: How The Winchesters Got In Touch With Their Feminine Sides [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113419
Comments: 123
Kudos: 191





	1. Currently All Is Well, This Will Soon Change

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know what I am doing
> 
> Disclaimer: not my characters, I don't own the show, I'm just playing with them

Sam was dozing, legs cramped in the footwell and head against the window of the Impala, when his phone started obnoxiously playing that song from the Titanic. He, thoroughly jolted from sleep, had a brief moment of sympathy for Balthazar. He really understood why the angel hated that song.

He also noted that he was really very hungry, and half-heartedly hoped that Dean would be stopping for - he squinted at the display on his phone, trying to ascertain the time - Very Late Lunch soon.

  
Then he hit his head on the roof of the car in his scramble to answer the phone. Dean, in the driver’s seat blasting Metallica, gave him a smug look. Sam would definitely have to get him back for that changing ringtones business.

  
“You bastard,” Sam muttered at him, then raised the phone to his ear. It was Bobby, and he was speaking louder than Sam’s sleep-soaked brain could feasibly process.

  
“Sam! Took ya long enough.” The old hunter sounded gruffer than usual, and Sam stifled a wince. “There’s a coven of witches up in Minnesota causing all sorts of problems. I’ll text you the info.”

  
“Right, Bobby, thanks. Not like we’re in Texas or anything. We’ll head right up there.” God, Sam could really go for some food. And maybe a drink.

  
Bobby, obviously missing the sarcasm, ended the call with a pleased “Knew I could count on you boys.”

Sam tossed the phone down on the leather bench seat between himself and Dean, then blew a strand of hair off of his face with a huff. “Bobby’s sending us to Minnesota.”

  
Dean turned his music down, slightly, and Sam sent up a thankful prayer for the continued safety of his eardrums. “Minnesota. He’s sending us to Minnesota.”

  
“S’what I said.” Sam shifted awkwardly, trying to fit his too-long legs into a position that didn’t immediately result in cramping and loss of blood flow. Dean leaned over and slapped his knee away from its position dangerously close to Baby’s radio dials.

  
“We’re in San Antonio, Sam. That’s Texas.”

  
“Yes, Dean, I know how geography works.”

  
Dean pounded the steering wheel in exasperation. Then he immediately apologized to his Baby. “Fine. What is it?”

  
Sam smirked. Dean was gonna absolutely love this. “Coven of witches going around causing trouble. Gotta get in, gank ‘em, and probably burn their spellbook.” Or maybe take it to Bobby, who would definitely like to study it. Either way, there was almost certainly a spellbook involved.

  
Dean grumbled and pulled into the parking lot of a small diner. ‘Sheila’s’, proclaimed the weathered wooden sign hung over a peeling door. Sam absentmindedly wondered if Sheila was still alive, and if she had a half-decent Cobb salad on the menu.

  
“Fucking witches. I fucking hate fucking witches.” Sam tuned Dean out, hoping the vinaigrette at this place was better than the sludge their last stop had had. Dean finished off his rant with “And you told him we’d take it! Fuckin bitch.”

  
Sam got out of the car, slamming the door probably a little harder than he should have. Dean deserved it for being in such a bad mood. “Jerk.”

  
They walked toward the diner’s entrance, bickering and shoving each other the entire way. The hostess, looking supremely bored and loudly smacking her chewing gum, gave them the short spiel welcoming them to the restaurant, then led them to a booth.

  
Sam surveyed the slightly sticky Formica table with mild distaste, then gingerly seated himself and pulled out his laptop. Might as well get some research done.

  
Across from him, Dean was picking at the cracks in the faux-leather seat with an expression of pure delight.

  
Their waitress, a small blonde woman about Sam’s age, cleared her throat loudly. Dean’s head jerked up and he gave her his best flirtatious smile.

  
So it was going to be one of those days.

  
Sam sighed and turned back to his laptop, zeroing in on articles about strange happenings in Mankato, Minnesota.

  
Ten minutes later, he looked up as a cheeseburger with extra onions was set in front of him. Dean, looking very pleased with himself, announced “You looked busy, so I ordered for you.”

  
Sam huffed an exasperated breath and turned back to his computer.

  
The next time he looked up, Dean was vanishing out the back door with their waitress, and wasn’t that just ideal. Peace and quiet and a chance to work.

  
And a burger with too many onions.

  
Can’t have everything, Sam thought, and focused his attention on the screen.

  
When Dean returned, flushed and grinning, Sam had a list of people to talk to once they got to Minnesota fully compiled.

  
He’d scraped the onions off the burger and eaten it, too. His cholesterol could handle one indulgence. He hoped.

  
Dean slid into the booth across from him and gathered up his jacket. “Chop chop, Sam, get a move on. We got places to be.”

  
Sam powered down his laptop after carefully saving his work. He fiddled with his cord for a good thirty seconds, then wound it up. He methodically searched through all of his pockets, looking for a small tip to leave their waitress. Poor girl deserved it after putting up with Dean.

  
Dean, who was standing next to him impatiently rapping his knuckles on Sam’s shoulder. Sam brushed him off. If Dean could abandon him in a dinky little diner to get his dick sucked, he could wait until Sam was good and ready to leave.

  
Finally, Sam stood up and shouldered past his impatient brother. “Come on, Dean, what are you waiting for?”

  
The three hours of AC/DC he was then subjected to was totally worth it, in Sam’s opinion.


	2. In Which There Are Magic Fingers, And Sam Might Get A New Grandma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean is a hedonist and Sam has Uncomfortable Thoughts Verging On The Philosophical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we will eventually get to the good stuff

A couple of days and quite a few diners later, they’d made it to their destination: a no-tell motel that looked suspiciously like it had bedbugs. Sam groaned and leveraged himself out of the Impala as Dean exited the motel office, waving a room key in glee.  
  
Sam sighed and lifted his duffel out of the trunk. Dean seemed to be full of energy; he could be the one transporting their weapons. Dean, from his position behind Sam, seemed to agree.  
  
Sometimes Sam wondered at the glint that graced his brother’s eye whenever he was handling something deadly. Almost like he was enjoying it, relieving happy memories of viciously killing monsters. Surely Sam himself didn’t look like that himself?  
  
Sam shook himself out of his reverie, marching over to room eight and unlocking the door. Seeing that the beds appeared to be bedbug free and reasonably clean, he flopped face first onto one.  
  
Then he grunted as one of Dean’s boots, flung across the room by its intrepid owner, hit him in the back. “You wanna go get us dinner?” Dean asked, once he was certain Sam was paying attention.  
  
Sam groaned. No, he didn’t want to go get them dinner. He wanted to lie on his bed, bemoan the lack of legroom in the Impala, relax his achy muscles, and maybe get some sleep.  
  
Dean’s other boot bounced off of his shoulder.  
  
“Fine! Fine, I’m going. Geez.” Sam got up, groaning at the creak his back let out. He shuffled over to his duffel and pulled out a twenty. “What’re you gonna do, sit there and wait for me?”  
  
Dean grinned and waved a piece of paper at him. “Pay-per-view, Sammy. And Magic Fingers!” And then he settled in to enjoy himself thoroughly. Sam wasted no time leaving the room, Dean’s overly exaggerated moan following him down the hall.  
  
As he walked down the street toward the diner he knew was a few blocks down, he sent up a quick prayer to Castiel. Not that he expected the angel to answer, since he’d been radio silent for a few weeks now, but it was worth a try. Hey, Cas, he thought, trying to project his mental voice outwards. This feels stupid. We’re in Minnesota. Going after some witches. You doing okay?  
  
Sam shook his head in annoyance as his concentration caused a throbbing behind his temples. His hair, as uncooperative as ever, slapped him rudely in the face. Enough praying, he thought, who knew if the angel was even listening. Time to get food and head back to the motel.  
  
“Did you want a slice of cherry pie, sugar? Fresh out of the oven!” The matronly lady whose name tag he couldn’t make out asked him. Sam considered. Did Dean deserve pie?  
  
No. Dean was an asshole to him all day.  
  
Dean did not deserve pie.  
  
“No, thank you,” he told her, putting on his best kind face. Jess has once called it his puppy dog eyes, and said he could charm his way into anything with it. “Just the two salads.”  
  
The woman practically melted. Sam honestly thought she was going to pinch his cheek across the counter. “Oh, sugar, are you sure? Looks like you’re still a growing boy and you can’t be eating enough if this is your normal order!”  
  
Sam ducked his head awkwardly and pushed his money across the counter. The woman, oblivious to his growing discomfort, blabbered on. “You remind me of my own boy, you know. My Andrew.”  
  
Emotional stranger. Emotional stranger with intense maternal instincts. Okay, Sam could deal with this. Sam dealt with this on cases all the time. “I’m sure you’re very proud of him, ma’am.” God he just wanted to get his food and go back to the room.  
  
“I was. I was so proud of him but that don’t do anything now, does it?” She looked sad. She was also putting the cherry pie in a box.  
  
“Ma’am?” Had he just said something to upset her? Shit. He’d only wanted a couple of salads.  
  
“My Andrew... I was so proud of him when he came in his uniform and told me he was shipping out. Army boy like his Daddy, he was.” Her eyes were focused on the ribbon she was wrapping around the box.  
  
Sam was very uncomfortable.  
  
“And then they left, and I thought I’d see him again soon.”  
  
What could he say? “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”  
  
“They sent me his dog tags, and a picture of our family he’d had in his pack. The rest of him is still off somewhere an ocean away.” She finished tweaking the pie box’s ribbon, and carefully swept two of the day’s specials into takeout boxes.  
  
Then she handed him his salads, the pie, and the two boxed meals. “Take it, sugar. You look like you could use it. And I don’t need your money.”  
  
“Ma’am, I can’t just-“  
  
“Yes you can. You remind me of my Andrew and, lord rest his soul, he’s beyond my help now. But you’re not. Take it.” She bustled around the counter, shooing him away. “Now skedaddle, I’ve gotta lock up.”  
  
Sam obediently skedaddled.  
  
He thought about the woman on his way back to the hotel. Some days he forgot why they did what they did, but it was times like this that reminded him. They hunted monsters so ordinary, nice people like her could have ordinary, nice lives.  
  
Sam felt a renewed determination to exterminate the coven of witches, and ensure the old woman could live in peace with the memories of her son and her diner, sticky with the smell of cherry pie.  
  
Sam’s melancholic reflection on the goods and faults of humanity, and how all one can really do is try to keep others safe when you can’t truly even protect yourself and the people you love, was cut short when he walked into the hotel room.  
  
“GodDAMNIT Dean, put some pants on!” Sam, balancing all the food he was carrying, averted his eyes. Dean, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the Magic Fingers, grudgingly pulled on some boxers. “Thank you. I have food.”  
  
Sam chucked a salad container at Dean, fully anticipating the outraged squawk he got in return. “What the hell is this, Sammy? We aren’t all moose, we don’t all eat green stuff!”  
  
Sam smirked at his older brother until Dean, sulking, stuffed a forkful of spinach into his mouth. Then he handed him one of the boxed specials the diner woman had given him.  
  
Dean glared at him. “You couldn’t’a led with that?”  
  
“Nope,” Sam said, popping the ‘p’ smugly. “Stop chewing so loud, I gotta do some research.”  
  
And so with the brotherly equilibrium restored and desolate thoughts of dead sons and opportunities lost, they settled in to discuss their game plan.


	3. In Which Dean Goes Out Of Character And Has A Big Gay Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They figure out what they're hunting, and Dean is outed. Mild angst and h/c ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of slurs as Sam remembers what John's opinion on the lgbt+ community was, be warned y'all. Also Castiel appears here!

The next morning, they were up bright and early, slipping into the personas of Mr. Wetton and Mr. Downes - names Dean chose purely because of the wince Sam gave every time he heard them.  
  
So sue him. If he never had to hear the real Wetton and Downes sing “Heat Of The Moment” again, it would be too soon.  
  
Sometimes Sam thought Dean took way too much pleasure in reminding him of all the times he’d died. And okay, file that under ‘sentences no normal person would ever say’.  
  
Sam was knotting his tie and musing on the cover they’d agreed on: life insurance adjusters. Five men had vanished from one bar in two weeks, and they would be spending their day talking to their distraught wives.  
  
Sam was not looking forward to it. In fact, Sam was dreading it. He was going to have to be comforting and understanding, and at least one of them was sure to hit on him. That’s what usually happened.  
  
Sam had no problem being comforting towards the bereaved. He liked to think he was a nice person, and besides, you caught more flies with honey than with vinegar. No, he hated the looks Dean threw at him while he did it. And then he hated it when the people he was being nice to flirted with him, and he especially hated it when Dean went and got drunk and ranted about how when this happened he could see the lawyer, the upstanding member of society Sam was meant to be.  
  
Sam didn’t really know how to respond to that one. He’d chosen the hunting life, after all, but when Dean wanted to blame something on himself, far be it from all the forces of heaven and hell alike to stop him.  
  
Sam was rudely jerked out of his musings on his big brother’s softer side by aforementioned big brother exiting the bathroom loudly, and throwing a toothbrush at Sam’s head.  
  
Seriously, what was it with Dean and throwing shit at Sam recently?  
  
“Come on, Sammy. Time’s a wasting.” And Dean swaggered out of the room, suit jacket thrown carelessly over his shoulder. Sam sighed and followed him to the car. When he slid into the passenger seat, Dean was still chatting. “Y’know, all these guys disappeared from the same bar. I’m thinking tonight we should check it out. Ooh, maybe there’s a siren or something!”  
  
“Dean. Focus. Mrs. Teare. Lives in Cordon Heights, husband James has been gone for nine days.” Sam industriously shuffled his notes, doing his best to ignore the face his brother was making. “And Dean? Don’t flirt with her.”  
  
In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the best thing he could’ve said. Sam knew that one irrefutable fact about Dean Winchester was that he did the opposite of what Sam asked him to.  
  
So when they were standing in Mrs. Teare’s spotless, stainless steel kitchen, awkwardly drinking grape juice and asking questions as the small woman bustled about cleaning everything almost compulsively, Sam really wasn’t surprised when Dean’s voice dropped a couple of octaves and he threw out a casual “Now what I can’t figure, ma’am, is why James would ever want to stay away from such a gorgeous woman for nine days.”  
  
Sam sighed and resisted the urge to punch his brother.  
  
Mrs. Teare turned around. She was probably in her mid-thirties, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Sam was pretty sure that if he stood next to her, she wouldn’t come up to his elbow.  
  
“But he did,” she said. “He’s gone and they tell me not to give up hope but I don’t think he’s ever coming back.”  
  
Sam saw Dean gearing up to throw out a suggestive comment, and hurriedly cut in. “And what did you say your husband did?”  
  
“He worked at a construction firm downtown. Shouldn’t you know this?” Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion. Sam idly noted that they looked a lot like Castiel’s.  
  
“Yes. Of course. Just double-checking. There’s questions we’re required to ask, you know how it is.” He fidgeted with his glass, and gave her what he hoped was an apologetic smile. He suspected he just looked constipated. “And what did you say you did?”  
  
“Oh, I used to teach. But then we got married and James just wouldn’t stand for a wife of his to be working.” Her nose wrinkled. “Said it was an insult to his masculinity. But I loved him, so what could I do?”  
  
Sam set his glass down and tugged at his tie. God, it felt like the thing was choking him. Give him a nice flannel over this monkey suit any day.  
  
Then he looked over to where Dean was leaning over poor Mrs. Teare, raising a hand to cup her face. Sam grabbed Dean’s arm right before he made contact, and hustled him out the door. “Thank you so much for your time, we’ll get back to you!” He hollered over his shoulder.  
  
Once they were back in the Impala, he socked Dean in the shoulder. “What the hell were you thinking?” He hissed. “We’re in the middle of a hunt and you’re flirting with the witnesses!”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, man. There was something about her eyes.”  
  
Sam settles back into the seat and, putting Dean’s hopelessness in love aside, directed his brother to the next house.  
  
The next three interviews went off without a hitch. Then, on the way to the fourth one, Castiel blinked into existence in the backseat. “Hello, Dean.”  
  
Dean cursed, loudly, and nearly swerved out of his lane. “Jesus, Cas, give a man some warning!”  
  
Cas agreed to remain in the car while Sam and Dean went to talk to a Mrs. Johnson, whose husband also went out to the bar and never came home.  
  
Then they retreated to the hotel to discuss what they had to go on so far. Dean sprawled across the couch that had definitely seen better days, then scooched away in shock when Cas sat down right next to him. Sam, rolling his eyes at their antics, settled at the foot of his bed with his laptop.  
  
“Okay, so the vics were all about the same age.” Dean offered.  
  
“All married within five years.” Cas offered.  
  
Dean turned to look at him. “You weren’t there for all of it, how did you know?”  
  
Cas looked, if possible, more awkward than usual. “I began looking into matters as soon as I received Sam’s prayer.”  
  
That caused a bit of a stir. Sam said, “Wait, you actually heard me?” at the same time as Dean jumped up, demanding to know why Cas hadn’t answered _his_ prayers then?  
  
“You said we had a profound bond, Cas! I’ve been begging you to come back for weeks and you ignore me but when Sam calls, you’re here?” Sam privately thought that Dean was getting rather too worked up about this.  
  
“I am sorry, Dean. After the last time I visited, I thought you did not wish to see me.” Cas started fidgeting with his trench coat. Sam idly wondered where he picked up that habit; it was a decidedly human trait. Then he looked down to where his own fingers were worrying away at his suit jacket button, and had his answer.  
  
It occurred to him that he was probably missing some important information. “Wait, Cas, what happened last time you were here?”  
  
All the blood drained out of Dean’s face. “Cas, don’t you dare-“  
  
Cas answered before Dean could finish telling him not to. “I flew into the hotel room while Dean was engaged in coitus. He yelled at me to ‘fuck off’, and shoved his partner out of the room into the hallway.”  
  
“Wow, Dean, shoving a girl into the hall? That’s a new low.” Dean didn’t respond. Dean was facing the wall, apparently attempting to dissociate from the conversation entirely.  
  
Cas continued, unperturbed. “No, Sam. I believe the cause for Dean’s discomfort regarding my intrusion was that his partner was male.”  
  
Huh. Okay then. That explained a lot, now that Sam thought about it. “Okay. Well we want you here now, Cas, and... hey, get this! All of the vics refused to let their wives work!”  
  
Sam, by now deep in the throes of discovery, did not notice Cas moving across the room to attempt to comfort an obviously panicked Dean.  
  
After some furious typing and accessing of records he shouldn’t have had access to, Sam had a conclusion. “Okay, so all the wives go to the same book club at the local library. And they just finished a book called A Discovery Of Witches. Looks like it’s about a woman that finds a spellbook. And Mrs. Teare made an online order for a manuscript that looks like the real deal here.  
  
“I’m willing to bet these women met through book club, became friends, got tired of their husbands restricting what they did, and ordered the spellbook to get revenge.”  
  
Then Sam looked up. Cas was gone and Dean was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. He looked like he was struggling not to cry. “Dean?”  
  
Dean’s voice was tiny, and more vulnerable than it had been in years. “You don’t h-hate me?”  
  
Sam felt a sickening twist in his gut. He knew how John would have reacted to the discovery that one of his sons wasn’t straight, and it wasn’t good.  
  
It killed Sam to realize that Dean was expecting the same type of reaction from him. Dean was waiting for Sam to call him disgusting, or a freak, or to tell him to get out of the room, leave Sam for good.  
  
Dean was staring up at him, green eyes wide and fearful. Sam didn’t know how to deal with this? Should he go over there? Talk at Dean from across the room? How could he tell his brother that this was fine, Sam didn’t care, Sam would love Dean no matter what his orientation was?  
  
He took a couple of steps toward Dean, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. He started to raise a hand to reach out to Dean, but his brother flinched back hard enough to bang his head against the wall. Sam froze, horrified. Surely Dean knew Sam would never, _never_ hurt him? No, apparently Dean didn't know, and the implications of that caused bile to rise in Sam's throat. Had John actually physically harmed Dean?

He opened his mouth, but Dean beat him to it. “I- I know what I am, okay? And I know what Dad raised us to be, and this ain’t it. I’ll go, I will, just. Just will you text me sometimes, so I know you’re okay?” God, his strong, larger-than-life big brother looked so small and broken and hurting, and Sam rushed across the room to drop to his knees in front of Dean’s huddled form.  
  
He reached out and cupped Dean’s face, forcing Dean to look at him. “Dean. Hey, whoa there. I’m not Dad.”  
  
Dean blinked up at him.  
  
“I don’t care who you wanna fuck, Dean, Jesus. And even if I did, you’re my brother. I wouldn’t kick you out.” Was this reassuring Dean at all? Sam couldn’t tell. How had Dean even hidden this for so long? "I promise it's fine, man."  
  
Dean lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Sam. Sam felt Dean relax into him for all of two minutes, tears staining Sam’s shoulder, before Dean abruptly snapped back into his usual brash persona.  
  
“Okay, so. Witches, huh? Whaddaya say we go in tomorrow and gank ‘em?”  
  
Sam, almost certain that Dean’s wildly swinging moods were gonna give him whiplash, agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise next chapter the actual curse will happen im sorry the backstory is taking too long D:


	4. In Which There Is Not-Fun Bondage, And Dicks Go Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happened! We made it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY we get some nice Destiel interaction. And I'm thinking of creating an OFC for Sam. Should I?

In hindsight, they really should’ve stopped to come up with a plan. Sam had let Dean dictate that they were just gonna barge into Mrs. Teare’s house, and had gone along with it. Now, waking up in a dim basement, tied to his brother and surrounded by witches, he was questioning the wisdom of that decision.

He decided to take quick stock of their surroundings. Mrs. Teare was directly in front of him, holding a basin filled with god-knows-what and a leather bound spellbook. There were four other women in the room. The room was, judging by the plastic lawn chairs and storage bins, a basement. So they were underground, no going out through a window. Great. Dean was pressed up against Sam’s back, their arms bound together.

Sam surreptitiously tried to reach his back pocket, searching for his knife. He was cut off by a gasp of pain from Dean. Okay, apparently moving made Dean’s various appendages bend in ways they weren’t supposed to.

Then Dean tried to move, and Sam was letting out his own little whimper. They were, he decided, well and truly fucked. Castiel, he thought (loudly, hopefully), we’re at Mrs. Teare’s place. We’re tied up in the basement. Could use a hand here, dude.

He had a brief moment to pray that Cas had his ears on, then was distracted by Mrs Teare painting a line of whatever sludgy liquid was in the basin across his forehead. She then moved to do the same to Dean.

The other four witches began to chant in what sounded awfully like Ancient Greek. Yep, Sam thought, distinctly catching several worrisome phrases. Definitely Greek. And if Cas didn’t show up pretty fast, Sam was pretty sure they were going to be literally turned inside out.

Which, ew. Sam would rather not be turned inside out; he had the distinct feeling it would be painful.

Then a deep voice was calling “Close your eyes,” and a bright white light seared across the inside of Sam’s eyelids. Thank god for angels with perfect timing.

Sam felt the cool slide of metal across his wrists, and the ropes fell away. He stood up, rubbing his eyes, and turned to check on Dean. The witches were dead, blood dripping from empty eye sockets.

Then Sam crumpled to the ground in pain. The last thing he was conscious of was Cas reaching out to touch him and Dean, and he fuzzily thought that he hoped Cas managed to get them into the right hotel room.

He woke up in bed, feeling like he’d just gone three rounds with a hellhound. 

He rolled over, groaning, and saw a huddled lump in the other bed. “Dean?” Huh. His voice sounded awfully squeaky. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Dean?”

Deciding that the bedside lamp should probably be on, he raised an arm toward it. Then he froze as the arm (which seemed less bulky than usual) brushed against a lump of flesh on his chest.

Oh no.

He did NOT like this.

Sam turned the light on and peered down the front of his abnormally large shirt. A hysterical laugh escaped him as he realized… “Oh my god, I’ve got _boobs_.”

Rolling out of bed, he tripped over the cuffs of his jeans as he hurried to the bathroom. He was a good six inches shorter, he noted wildly as he went through the door. He didn’t have to duck anymore.

Having reached the mirror, he prodded at his new face. His cheekbones were sharper, his eyes looked larger. He looked almost delicate. What the fuck?

Then, because there was a strange weight on his chest that he didn’t like the thought of, he unbuttoned his shirt and- yep. Boobs.

They were very nice boobs, he thought, objectively. He could probably appreciate them more if they weren’t attached to him. But no, the witches had done something, and instead of being inside out and dead, Sam was a girl.

He was struck by a horrifying thought. He opened his jeans, slowly, and peeked inside his boxers.

Sam would later deny ever making a noise that could be classified as a squeak, but it definitely happened. It was a justified reaction.

His dick was gone. He had distinctly female parts.

Well, if Sam was in this position, then Dean probably was too, and that thought cheered Sam up and had him bouncing back into the room proper. “Dean! Dean, wake up!”

Dean groaned, sat up, groaned again, and reached up to scratch at his chest. Then he froze. His hand made a small rubbing motion over his chest, then gave an experimental squeeze. His eyes popped open. “Sam, why do I have boobs?”

Sam would’ve laughed at his brother’s new, high pitched voice if his own wasn’t similar to it. “I think when Cas zapped the witches in the middle of the spell, it did something unprecedented. I’m gonna call Bobby soon.”

Dean stood up, stumbling a bit on newly shortened legs. Then he turned scared eyes on Sam. “Am I ever gonna get my dick back?”

Sam didn’t want to think about Dean’s dick, or about the possibility that they were stuck like this forever. “Probably not. Tough. I’m gonna call Bobby. Bathroom’s yours.” And he walked out of the room, pulling out his phone.

“What?” Bobby wasn’t mincing words.

“Hey! It’s Sam.” 

“Boy, what the hell is wrong with your voice?”

“Yeah, uh, about that. Dean and I had a run in with some witches.” Sam fidgeted with the hem of his too-large shirt, and glared at a trucker across the parking lot who was eyeing him up like a piece of meat.

“And you got yourself cursed with a chick’s voice?”

“No, we kinda got turned female,” Sam explained in a rush.

“Say that again, but slower. Cause it sounded like you said you got turned into a couple of girls.” Bobby, unsurprisingly, didn’t sound convinced.

“Yeah, no, that’s exactly what happened.” And Sam told Bobby all he could remember about the spell.

After a few minutes of hurriedly flipping through old books, Bobby picked the phone back up. “Yeah, I think I found what went wrong. The spell was supposed to turn you inside out, so opposite of what you are now. Witches got killed before they could specify which opposite they wanted you to become, so all that half-formed magic decided to flip your gender instead.”

“Great. Is it permanent?” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, then flipped off the trucker.

“It’ll break on the next full moon. That’s… let me see here, twenty-three days.”

He was gonna be stuck as a girl for twenty-three days? Sam was considering the implications of that when he heard a shriek from inside the room. “Thanks, Bobby, gotta go,” he said, and ended the call. 

After having charged through the door with his gun drawn, Sam realized that the cause of the shriek was probably Cas zapping in while Dean was naked from the waist up.

Dean was holding his previously discarded shirt as a shield in front of him, and Cas was squinting confusedly. Dean, deciding that waving his arms around angrily wasn’t going to be much help, hissed “Cas! You can’t just do that! I didn’t have a shirt on!”

Cas tilted his head. “You have walked around without a shirt on before.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I had _these_!” Dean, in the act of gesturing at his newly enlarged chest, dropped his shirt/shield. Cas raised one eyebrow.

Sam very quickly averted his eyes. He’d already seen far too much of his brother’s boobs.

Cas was still puzzling out Dean's newfound modesty. “You appear to be female, Dean.”

Sam cut over Dean’s “No fucking shit, Sherlock,” with a short explanation of what Bobby thought had happened, and how long it would last. Dean listened intently. Cas seemed to be mostly watching Dean.

“Okay,” Dean said. “If we’re gonna be like this for a month, we’re gonna need clothes that fit. Breakfast and then Walmart. Cas, you’re coming too.” Then he turned to dig through his duffle.

Sam, wanting to avoid looking at his now fully naked brother, and also at the angel staring avidly at said brother, decided to go wait in the car for them.


	5. In Which Castiel Is Sappy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry y'all it's a short one I'm swamped with school stuff
> 
> Please forgive me 
> 
> kudos motivate me to write more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does Sam need a romantic partner? 
> 
> if so, who?
> 
> please
> 
> tell me

Getting breakfast posed a whole host of other problems. First and foremost, none of their clothes fit. They looked, Dean said, like they’d knocked out a couple of giant hitchhikers and stolen all their stuff.  
  
By the time a complaining Dean had slid behind the wheel of the Impala, and had adjusted the seat (cursing all the while), Sam’s stomach was growling.  
  
Cas appeared in the backseat. Evidently the feathery dude had decided to stick with them for a while. Sam privately thought that he was probably worried for Dean. The angel couldn’t take his eyes off the man.  
  
They arrived at a small diner and Dean launched himself out of the car, heading for the door. Sam, suddenly very conscious of his shortened legs and weirdly bouncy chest, followed.  
  
God, that was weird. He walked and they... moved.  
  
Sam was suddenly faced with the horrifying realization that he would probably need to wear a bra. Jess had hated bras; Sam had often found himself giving her a relaxing massage after a long day. Sam did not want to wear a bra and experience that for himself.  
  
Then, lost in thought, he walked right into the door of the diner. Cas gently shouldered past him to pull the door open, then ushered Sam through. “Ladies first,” he said, and Sam briefly wondered where on Earth Cas had learned that.  
  
Then he thought he’d really like to see what happened if Cas said that to Dean.  
  
Dean, who was sitting in a booth in the corner, voraciously reading the menu. Sam and Cas joined him, sliding onto the cracked red bench seat.  
  
At some point, Sam realized as he munched on his fried egg, Cas had picked up a taste for coffee. The angel was on his third cup, and wasn’t looking any more awake.  
  
Maybe he drank it for the taste. Heh.  
  
Dean was astounding their waitress by packing away a good bit of bacon, a piece of sausage, three eggs, and a stack of pancakes. How the hell was it fitting in his new, smaller body? God only knew.  
  
Sam asked for the bill while Dean licked syrup from his fingers and Cas stared, transfixed. “Oh, that nice fella over there covered it for ya!” their waitress said, gesturing at a man leaning against the counter. Sam squinted at him, almost certain it was the trucker from last night. That may shape up to be a problem.  
  
Then he heard “I’m serious, Dean. Your soul is a bright one. If anyone is worthy of the love of Heaven, it is you.” Turning back to the table, he focused on Dean. Cas turned to him. “Sam, why does your brother have such a low opinion of himself?”  
  
Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too early for this. “Dean, what did you do?”  
  
“I don’t know, man, I just said I couldn’t wait to change back so I’d be useful again.” Dean was mumbling and shuffling his feet awkwardly.  
  
Huh. Was that all Dean thought he was good for? Maybe Sam didn’t know his brother as well as he thought. He filed that tidbit of information away under ‘Deal With Later,’ and chivvied his two companions out to the car.  
  
“Okay. Walmart?”  
  
God, Sam couldn’t wait to see how Cas handled Walmart. Or, for that matter, how Dean handled lingerie shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okaaaaaaay y'all Cas is in looooooove


	6. In Which Dean Deals With An Asshole, And Sam Hates Boobs (When They’re Attached To Him)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothes Shopping and Dean gets hit on by a dude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make me want to write faster!

As it turned out, Cas managed okay, even if he did come across as a little bit clueless sometimes. Oh no, Dean was the problem. He was running around like a chihuahua on crack, and Sam briefly wondered just how out of whack his brother’s hormones were.

Figuring that they were probably gonna be staying in that hotel for a while, Sam swung through and picked up some nonperishable food items just so they wouldn’t have to go to the diner every day. They had access to a microwave, and he wanted their two newly minted fake credit cards to last as long as possible. 

Sam was standing in the middle of aisle five, holding a pack of ramen, and considering the ins and outs of credit card fraud. And he had boobs. What even was his life anymore?

Noting that a matronly woman at the end of the aisle was staring at him, he waved a hand in an awkward sort of way. She moved a bit closer and made an aborted gesture at his chest. “Ma’am?”

“Hey there, sugar. You, uh, you’ve got a situation.” She looked mortified, but he could tell in her voice that she was trying to be kind and save him an embarrassing situation. Unfortunately, he still had no idea what she was talking about. 

“It does get kinda cold in here, I get it.” She made another little gesture, then leaned in and whispered “Your high beams are on.”

Sam finally looked down, and felt himself go red. His nipples (god, this was weird) were kind of... erect. 

He thanked her, stuttering twice, and made a beeline for the bra section. Evidently, he was gonna need one. 

When he got to the women’s clothing, he could see Cas standing patiently outside one of the dressing rooms. The poor guy looked excruciatingly awkward. 

Sam could sympathize. 

He strolled down the rows of clothing racks, pulling out some jeans. He glared at the label, wondering what size he even wore. Eventually he found some that looked right when he held them up against himself, so he held onto those. 

Then he saw some sweatpants, and figured he probably needed a pair of them too. But he didn’t want ones covered in rhinestones, or ones that were leopard print pink, and he especially didn’t want ones that had ‘JUICY’ written across the back. 

He settled for the rhinestones, because they had pockets and apparently nothing else did. Seriously. Did women just not need pockets or what?

Jess had had pockets. She’d shown him her pockets with great glee every time she wore something new. 

Sam was starting to comprehend why. Finding clothing with pockets must be a rare occurrence. 

Then he needed some shirts. He saw plaid and made a beeline for it, then blanched. They were tailored to fit someone with curves. 

Sam looked at the shirt. 

Sam looked down at himself. 

Actually, it looked like it might fit pretty well. 

He grabbed a couple of different sizes off the rack, and decided to head for the fitting room with his armful. He’d find the most important stuff first, and tackle the underwear situation later. 

In the little cubicle, he took off the too-big jeans he had on, and stepped into his new ones. Then he looked in the mirror. They felt surprisingly comfortable, but they were tight. 

Like, Sam could see his thigh flexing through the material. Struck by curiosity, he turned around. 

He would probably have a lot more appreciation for the very nice ass greeting him in the mirror if it wasn’t attached to him. 

Shaking his head in just a little bit of shock, he decided the jeans and sweats were acceptable, and moved on to the shirt. 

It fit too, but it certainly highlighted certain bits of Sam he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to seeing. He had a curved waist, for God’s sake! He had hips! It was weird!

Deciding that all the clothing he’d found was acceptable, he slithered back into his normal clothes and went in search of underwear. 

He was staring at a wall covered in packs of panties when Dean came around the corner. Sam ran a hand through his hair and addressed his brother. “There’s so many kinds. What do I even get?”

Dean looked just as confused as he did. “Uh, Lisa used to wear these ones.” He pointed at something labeled ‘Hipster’. “And also those.” This time he was pointing at ‘Bikini’.

Sam shrugged and took the package labeled Hipster off the hook. He flipped it over, and was met with a very confusing sizing chart. “Dude, what size am I?”

Dean turned a critical eye on him. “I’d say a ten to twelve. I’m an eight to ten in jeans, and I’m guessing the sizing is the same here?”

Sam looked at the tag on the jeans he’d selected. Dean was right. With the help of the sizing chart, he selected a package and prayed they were the right ones. Then Cas showed up, with an impressively blank face and a lacy bra dangling from his fingers. 

“Dean, I located something in your size, if you would like to see?”

Dean turned to grin at the angel. “Thanks, man! Geez, bra sizes are confusing. You gotten yours yet, Sammy?”

Sam acknowledged that he hadn’t, and so followed his brother and Cas to the racks of bras. 

Dean started rifling through different racks, pulling things out and making humming noises. Periodically, he went to try something on. 

Cas drifted a respectable distance away, and began examining a shelf of belts with great intensity. 

Sam was a smart guy. Or girl. Whichever. Point was, he was intelligent. He knew he was. That didn’t stop him from becoming completely baffled by the sizing. 

A young mother bouncing a toddler smiled at him as she passed, and he was struck by inspiration. He chased after her. “Ma’am? I’m so sorry to bother you, but it’s been years since I had to shop for this, and I’ve just had a growth spurt, and I don’t know...” he let his voice trail off, smiling at her hopefully. 

“I totally understand, sugar. Here, let me see you. You’ve found all your other clothing okay?” Sam nodded as she pulled his shirt tight around his figure. “All right, you might wanna start with a double D and work your way up from there.” 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“That’s all right, sugar. I’ve got a teenage daughter at home, we’ve been here before.” She smiled again and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s overwhelming, I know. You’ll be all right, though.” And then she was walking away. 

Geez. Sam knew the puppy dog eyes made him look young, but did he really still look like a teenager? Yuck. He was in his twenties!

He snatched a double D off the rack and went to try it on. 

It was strange. 

He had trouble with the clasp, so he put it on backwards and then spun it around. No matter how much he adjusted them, the shoulder straps pinched at his skin. The underwire was a constant pressure on his ribcage. 

He put that one back on the shelf, and went for the sports bras. He was looking dubiously at one that resembled a torture contraption when he heard his brother’s voice from two aisles away. 

“Dude, not cool!”

Sam stuffed a non-torturey bra that looked like it would fit in his basket, and went to go check on Dean. 

“Let go of my arm!”

Sam rounded the corner to see a tall man holding Dean’s arm, leaning towards his brother. “Now don’t be like that, baby,” the man said, “I was just askin’ if you’d wanna go out sometime.” Dean was leaning away from the man, eyes sharp as he glared daggers. 

Sam started to walk towards them, but then Cas was there. He grabbed the man’s collar and yanked him backwards, prying his fingers away from Dean’s arm. “Did he hurt you,” he growled to Dean. 

Dean shook his head, obviously shaken. 

Cas twisted the front of the man’s shirt, backing him up against a sock display. “You should not talk to people in such a way,” he gritted out, inches from the man’s face. “Especially not her. She is under my protection.”

Then he gave the man a shove and he nearly fell in his hurry to scramble away. 

Dean let out a shaky breath, and launched himself into Cas’ arms. Sam watched, frozen in shock, as Cas stroked his brother’s back and murdered comforting words. 

Dean pulled himself together pretty quickly, turning to Sam and briskly asking if he had everything he needed. Sam nodded yes, and they’d gone to check out. Cas stayed within arm’s reach of Dean at all times, glaring at everyone who walked past. 

The fallout hit once they’d made it back to the hotel room and were eating microwave burritos. Sam and Dean were each sitting on a bed, while Cas sat at the motel’s desk. Dean, eyes fixed on the local news station, started to shake. 

The motion grabbed both Cas and Sam’s attention. They moved closer to Dean, who’s eyes had gone glassy. He wrapped his arms around himself, and gulped in a breath of air. 

The harsh noise of that breath broke the tension, and Sam rushed to the bed. He pulled Dean into his side in a hug, offering strength and comfort as best he could. Beside him, Cas knelt on the floor and cupped Dean’s face, brushing away his tears. 

Sam knee that if he asked, Dean wouldn’t tell him what was going on, so he deferred to Cas. “Dean, what is the matter?”

At the soft, concerned voice, Dean started to talk. “It’s just, I used to be strong. And he grabbed me, and I tried to make him let go, and I couldn’t. He was stronger than me.” This brought on another bout of shaking, and Cas pressed himself closer to Dean. 

“Dean, please know that I will always protect you,” he said, and Sam voiced his second to that. 

Then Dean pushed Sam away, and he went back to his own bed to watch the news anchor talk about three hit-and-runs that had happened in the last two weeks. 

When he looked over at his brother’s bed again, Cas was sitting with his back against the headboard. Dean’s head was resting on Cas’ chest, and Cas had an arm around Dean’s shoulders. Dean was fast asleep. 


	7. In Which There Is A Date, And Sam Has Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are progressing pretty well!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry in advance

The next morning, Sam decided to look into the vaguely suspicious car accidents they’d heard about on the news. He rolled out of bed intending to go in search of a newspaper, idly noting that Dean and Cas were still cuddling on the other side of the room

Judging by the distinct lack of screaming, Dean was still asleep. Cas nodded at Sam in acknowledgment when he indicated that he was going to head out shortly, and that he’d return with breakfast. 

Then he put on the rhinestone sweatpants, because he valued comfort over the skintight jeans. 

Then he promptly took off the sweatpants, and put on his Hipster-cut underwear, which he decided was very uncomfortable. It was... tight. And it rubbed against _folds_ down there that he really wasn’t interested in exploring further. 

Having successfully remembered underwear, he put the pants back on and turned his attention to the bra. It sat innocently on top of his duffel. He eyed it with great trepidation.

Deciding it probably wasn’t going to come alive and kill him, he picked it up and tried to figure out how to get it on. After much twisting, turning, and cussing, he finally put it on backwards, did up the clasp, and spun it around. 

Then he made a stifled noise of pain when one of his boobs got caught on it and it scraped over his nipple. That had hurt!

Stupid girl nipples. Stupid bra. Stupid freaking Winchester luck. 

Across the room, Cas politely averted his eyes. 

Still muttering, Sam pulled on the rest of his clothes and left the motel room. 

He returned fifteen minutes later, with donuts, coffee, a newspaper, and a case. When he got back, Dean was awake. Judging from his position against the far wall with spooked-wide eyes, he’d still been all wrapped up in Cas when he woke up. 

Sam briefly considered some comforting words, then settled for throwing a donut at him. 

Dean caught the donut and started munching, while Cas moved to take one of the coffees Sam was holding. “So get this,” Sam said, relinquishing his hold on the caffeinated goodness, “I think there’s something going on with all those people getting hit by cars.”

He unfolded the newspaper, flattening it out on the table and taking a hearty gulp from his own coffee. “See here, from what the police can tell, it was different license plates but the same car every time.”

Dean skittishly moved out of his corner, coming to peer at the article over Sam’s shoulder. Sam pretended not to notice the way Cas shifted to press his shoulder to Dean’s, or the way Dean leaned hesitantly into the touch. 

He booted up his laptop, munched down his own donut, and promptly started cussing when it became apparent that Dean hadn’t closed out of his porn window before shutting the laptop down last time he’d used it. “Dean, for the love of Christ!” 

“Hey!” Dean looked mildly offended. “That is hentai. It’s practically an art form.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go cuddle your angel and let me do some research.”

***

Half an hour later, Sam had established that the vehicular accidents, when plotted on a map of the city, were looking an awful lot like four of the five points one would get if one drew a pentagram across the city based on the locations of the major highways that entered it. 

Well. That was fantastic. Really great. They’d also all been four days apart, so they had three days to find out what was doing it, where the next one would be, and get there to stop it. 

Based on the pentagram, Sam was betting demon. He relayed this information to Dean and Cas, and they set about making a plan. Sam tried very hard not to think about his newly fragile, weaker female body, and how very breakable it seemed to be. 

They hashed our a rough plan, Sam cleverly slipping in a way to get his brother and Cas to spend time together, and then adjourned. Cas disappeared, and Dean settled in to watch an episode of Dr. Sexy. 

The reminder of the general existence of Dr. Sexy drove Sam out of the room proper and into the bathroom, where he figured that he might as well do a little bit of exploring his new assets. 

It was for science, after all. 

Once he got past the initial weirdness of fingers being in places he’d never felt nor had before, it was kind of fun. Then Dean yelled at him to keep it down, for fuck’s sake Sammy, I don’t need to hear my brother doing that shit. 

Sam considered retaliating that he was tired of hearing Dr. Sexy banging a nurse in a broom closet, but thought better of it. 

***

The day of the anticipated demon attack came, and they got into position bright and early. The fifth point on the pentagram has fallen on a bridge, so Sam was stationed at one end of it, while Dean and Cas took the other. 

With great glee, Sam got his brother and Cas settled at a table on the outdoor patio of a small coffee place, then took off to sit by the window of a diner across the bridge. 

There he sat for three hours, watching for demon activity and spying on his brother’s coffee date. Which it totally was.

Dean and Cas talked for a long time. Dean laughed some, Cas laughed some, Dean would look down, sad, and Cas would reach across to place a hand on his arm. Observing them from a distance, Sam could see how each of them gravitated toward each other, how aware and receptive each of them were of the other’s movements and moods. 

Yeah, Sam could see that profound bond at work. He just hoped everything would stay okay when Dean changed back. 

Then he saw the car that had hit the other people coming down the street heading toward the bridge, and started moving. A young woman was starting across the crosswalk, not noticing that the car wasn’t stopping for the red light. 

Sam shoved his way out of the diner’s door and sprinted across the sidewalk, wildly thinking that he really needed a better sports bra. _They_ were jiggling, and it was distracting. 

He collided with the young woman, knocking her out of the way just as the car plowed into him. Sam briefly registered that he seemed to be flying, and multiple people were screaming, and then the pain hit. 

And then he was unconscious. 


	8. In Which Dean Is Soft (TM) And Cas Has A Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is okay don't worry this is kinda a filler chapter because I made the stupid decision to give this fic a Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short. I'm sorry. Also this chapter contains references to past prostitution (not explicit)

Dean was well into his fifteenth hour of sitting by Sam’s hospital bed.

He’d been sitting across the bridge with Cas, discovering that conversation actually flowed quite easily with the angel. He’d been watching for the demon’s car, of course, but he’d also found himself involved in Cas’ recount of a few years he’d spent on Earth back in the 1400s. 

Then he’d looked across the bridge and seen his little brother crumpling to the ground. Dean was out of his seat in a split second, Cas right behind him. He rushed to the crosswalk where Sam was lying, shoving unceremoniously through the gathering crowd.

He dropped to his knees beside his brother. God, Sam was so… still. “Sam?” No response. Sam’s eyes were closed, his face deathly pale. Dean watched in shocked horror as a pool of blood formed beneath Sam’s head.

Dean forcibly shoved down the panic rising in his throat and threatening to choke him. Okay. Assessment of injuries. There was obviously a head wound of some kind. Sam’s arm was at a strange angle. Broken.

Dean ran a gentle hand through Sam’s hair. “Sammy? Sammy, please.” His voice cracked and broke as he begged his brother to wake up.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and looked up into the face of a gruff man in a business suit. “I’ve called an ambulance, love. It’s gonna be okay.”

Was it gonna be okay? God. Dean didn’t know. How was it that his brother could face down all kinds of supernatural creatures and escape unscathed, but be taken out by a freaking car? Granted, it was probably a demon car, but still.

The ambulance sirens sounded in the distance, and Dean, keeping one hand resting gently on his brother’s hair, turned his face into Cas’ shoulder and sobbed.

***

So. Fifteen hours of sitting by Sam’s bed and waiting for him to wake up. Cas stood beside him, a solid, comforting presence. Dean didn’t know when he’d grabbed the angel’s hand, but he was using it like a lifeline. Occasionally, Cas would awkwardly pat his shoulder. Dean tried to tell himself that it wasn't a big deal. Dean tried to tell himself that John Winchester wouldn't have slapped him upside the head for holding another guy's hand. Dean tried to tell himself that Sammy wouldn't care if he wasn't exactly straight. Hell, Sammy himself had said it was fine, when Dean had freaked out.

Who could blame him? He grew up with John. John had made his feelings quite clear. The first time he'd found a teenage Dean with a male client... it hadn't been good. John had been angry for days. In fact, John had broken Dean's nose, even as Dean frantically tried to explain that he wasn't gay, he was only doing it for money to take care of Sammy.

Sammy. Sammy wasn't even awake to witness Dean's transformation into a total girl, complete with emotions and gay panic. You know, barring the fact that he was currently actually an actual girl. Dean pointedly tried to ignore the general girly-ness of his appearance. Maybe it was affecting the way he was thinking; he knew he didn't used to be this overwrought.

Dean had lost count of how many cups of coffee he'd had. He'd also given up on hiding his tears, figuring that Cas had already seen him at his worst. His leg bounced frantically, revealing all the energy thrumming beneath his skin. He needed to be doing something. He needed to be actively helping Sam get better. Sitting here waiting was doing jack shit, and besides, the caffeine was making it impossible.

This wasn't how any of it was supposed to go. Dean was supposed to take care of his little brother

Dean leaned forward and brushed a lock of Sam’s hair behind his ear. “Come on, Sammy, you gotta wake up. Come on, baby boy, please.” Sam didn’t respond.

A nurse bustled into the room. “Ma’am, your sister should be waking up soon. Now, as far as we can tell, she’s got a broken arm and a concussion but no internal injuries. You can see that we’ve already set the arm, but we need her to wake up to properly diagnose the concussion.”

Dean was momentarily baffled by the nurse’s words, then remembered that he and Sam were temporarily female. Right.

As if the whole damn day wasn’t complicated enough.

Two hours later, and one scuffle with the hospital staff (who were adamant that visiting hours were over. Dean was adamant that he wasn’t leaving his Sammy) successfully won, Sam’s eyes opened. 

Dean nearly sobbed in relief.

Then he and Cas smuggled a very disoriented Sam out of the hospital and back to the hotel room, laying him out on one of the beds. Sam blearily asked what had happened.

Dean shushed him gently and fed him a couple of painkillers, told him to get some sleep. Sam tossed and turned, letting out little moans every time he jostled his head or the cast on his arm. After about fifteen minutes of that… “Deeeaaaan.”

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean looked up from the papers spread across the table, a result of his feverish research into the demon car, hell bent on getting revenge for his brother.

“Hurts.” There was a whine in Sam’s voice that Dean hadn’t heard since the younger man was about seven years old. The tone awakened every protective older brother instinct Dean had, and so, obviously, he did exactly what he had done when Sammy was young and had needed comfort.

***

Cas walked into the room a few minutes later, laden down with dinner, to find Dean sitting awkwardly against the headboard of the bed and stroking Sam’s hair, singing softly to him. Sam made a snuffling, mumbling noise in his sleep and pushed his head toward Dean’s gentle fingers.

Cas felt a sudden rush of affection for his two broken, lost boys, followed closely by the need to protect them as much as possible.

Then he felt a distinctly less platonic sort of affection directed at Dean, at his singing and the soft look on his face, his unyielding stubbornness and ability to care so deeply for the people lucky enough to know him.

Cas dropped the dinner bags on the table rather suddenly. To borrow one of Gabriel’s favorite sayings, oh fuck. Cas was in love with Dean Winchester.


	9. In Which There Is A Lot Of Blood, And Everyone Freaks Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets his period, and Does Not Like It. Charlie is called in for help.

The next day, Sam woke up to a report playing on the local news channel. “The man involved in four recent hit-and-runs has been apprehended,” the TV was saying. “Cult activity is suspected…”

Okay, so it had been a human. A crazy human, but a human. Sam tried to sit up, and groaned as his head throbbed. Then Cas was there, pressing two fingers to his forehead. Sam relaxed as he felt Cas’ grace tingle through him, erasing his pain. “I am sorry I could not do that earlier, Sam. It would have looked suspicious for you to be healed while in the hospital.”

“I understand. Thanks, Cas.” Sam slid out of bed and looked around. “Where’s Dean?”

“Packing the car. He is going to return the two of you to the bunker to wait out the rest of your curse. I am being called upon by Gabriel for aid, so I will leave you for a while.” And then Cas was gone.

Okay then.

Yawning lazily and wandering over to the bathroom, Sam prepared to brush his teeth. He winced and rolled his shoulders as he did so, an ache in his chest making itself known.

He glared down at his boobs. Then he poked one.

Right, so that was a bad decision, he thought dazedly. That had hurt. They were slightly swollen and they  _ hurt _ . He wasn’t looking forward to wearing a bra today.

Sighing, Sam finished his morning routine and carried his duffel out to the Impala, where Dean was waiting for him.

Two hours into their drive back to the bunker, Sam felt a sudden and inexplicable stabbing pain in his lower stomach. He doubled over, groaning, and Dean looked over in alarm. “Sammy?”

“What in the fucking fuck- did Cas miss something?” Sam was bent double in the seat, clutching at his abdomen. His face was screwed up in pain.

“Cas doesn’t just miss things. I’m gonna pull over at this gas station up here and check you over for… for hex bags or something.” Dean was obviously trying very hard not to panic, but it wasn’t really working.

Sam had absolutely no shame in admitting that he was totally panicking as the Impala rolled to a stop in the gas station parking lot. “Get into the bathroom and strip down. Check your clothes for hex bags,” Dean ordered, rushing around the car to drag Sam out of the passenger seat. “I’m gonna search the car.”

Sam, fully anticipating another stab of pain any moment, rushed to the bathroom. The women’s bathroom, because he was still in this stupid female body.

Sam spared a moment to internally cuss at his stupid female body, which had swollen, painful boobs and was now trying to rip him apart from the inside. Then, partway through going through his pockets in search of a hex bag, Sam had a horrible realization.

When he’d been living with Jess, she’d complained about debilitating cramps and sore breasts sometimes. Sam had always done his best to help, getting her hot tea, a heating pad, chocolate when she asked for it.

If I walk over to that toilet and pull my pants down and there is blood in my underwear, Sam thought, I am going to be so, so pissed.

He walked over to the toilet and pulled his pants down, and oh. Wonderful. It looked like someone had slaughtered a vampire in his general crotch area.

There was blood. A lot of blood. And some of it was weirdly… clumpy? It was smeared across his thighs and it was in those folds that he still didn’t want to think about too closely because of course it was, that’s where it was coming from, and Sam may have been hyperventilating a little bit.

He felt that a little hyperventilation was permissible, given that he was a guy, in a girl’s body, having his (her?) first period, and  _ it fucking hurt. _

Sam’s growing panic was not helped in the least by Dean pounding on the door. “Sammy, open up. Are you okay?”

“Not a hex bag,” he called back weakly, watching as some of the blood dripped out of him. God, that was such a weird feeling. He was going to need… what had Jess used? She’d had tampons. Sam remembered because he’d been horrified at the prospect of someone having to shove wads of cotton up inside them.

She’d also had pads, he thought. Those would probably be more manageable. He could probably even remember which brand she’d used. It had started with a K, he knew that. Vaguely, he remembered her ranting about something called Toxic Shock Syndrome, and abruptly found himself wishing he’d been paying more attention. What the fuck was Toxic Shock Syndrome? Did he have it?

Meanwhile, Dean had been picking the lock on the door, because of course he had, and so he clattered his way in. “Sammy? Which stall are you in, man?”

“Down on the end,” Sam said. “I’ve got a problem.”

The stall door rattled. “C’mon, man, let me in. What’s going on?” Dean was past worried and well on his way to completely freaking out. He banged on the stall door harder.

“Uh.” Sam said, eloquently.

“Sam I swear to God, if I come in there and find you dead in a pool of your own blood I am gonna be so, completely pissed off at you. Open the fucking door.”

“I’m not dead. The blood part isn’t far off, though,” Sam said, dazedly. He was still staring in horror at the general carnage going on in his pants. Then he reached over and unlatched the door.

Dean burst in, gun raised, and then froze. “Sammy, what-?”

Sam gave a weak grin, looking rather like a deer caught in the headlights of a very large and very confusing semi truck. “I think I’m on my period.”

Dean lowered the gun, flicking the safety on and tucking it back into his pants. “Uh… okay. I’m gonna go grab a box of pads. There’s some up by the register. Then I’m gonna come back in here, we’re gonna get you cleaned up, and then we’re never gonna talk about this again. Capiche?”

Sam nodded miserably.

Dean returned with the pads (Kotex, Sam knew it had started with a K) and a fresh pair of underwear for Sam. He then stood by the sink, dampening paper towels and passing them around the still-open stall door to Sam, who cleaned the blood off of himself.

Then they both stared at the box of pads.

“I’m pretty sure there’s instructions in there,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. Then he left the stall. “I’ll just… be out here. No offense, man, but you’re too naked in there.”

Understandable.

Sam opened the box, and okay then. Those had to be the most complicated instructions he’d ever seen, and he’d done an ancient Sumatran summoning ritual before.

He picked up one of the pads and opened it. He was pretty sure the sticky side went on his underwear, so he stuck it on. Then it had… oh, it had flaps. Those probably bent around to hold it on.

Sam emerged from the stall carrying the box of pads and walking with an odd, bow legged gait. At Dean’s judgmental glance, he insisted that “Hey, man, it feels weird. Really weird. It rubs on places and stuff.”

The rest of the trip back to the bunker was relatively uneventful. When they got back, they were unloading their bags when Sam felt a stabbing cramp and doubled over, groaning in pain.

“That’s it,” Dean said. “I’m calling in female aid.”

Sam weakly flapped a hand at him, accidentally hitting himself in the (still very sore) boob. Then he yelped in pain. Vaguely, he heard Dean talking into his phone.

“C’mon, Charlie, please. We’re kinda-” he glanced over at Sam, who was crumpled on the ground morosely glaring at his own chest- “kinda pathetic here.”

Sam took offense at that. Or, he would, if he wasn’t cramping up so badly.

“Charlie is on her way, she’ll be here in a few hours,” Dean announced, walking over to him. “C’mon, let’s get you up and inside.” Then Dean put a hand to his stomach, cursing. “Ow, fuck, what the-?”

Sam let out a weak laugh. “You know where the pads are, man.”


	10. A Filler Chapter In Which Charlie Is Very Helpful And A Little Bit Flustered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie shows up and helps the boys out

Charlie appeared four hours later, armed with heating pads, chocolate, movies, and a video camera. Sam noticed the video camera first, because it was pointed at him where he was sitting on the floor in the library. “Hey, Sam! How’s it going?”

He turned a baleful eye on her. “Hurts.”

“Oookay then. Sounds like you might not be one of the lucky ones.” She paused for dramatic effect, then: “You’re screwed.”

“Lucky ones?”

“Some people just don’t have much pain at all. Looks like you aren’t one of them.” She crouched down in front of him, giving him a gentle hug.

“Hurts,” he repeated, because he didn’t think she quite grasped that. It did hurt. It felt like a bunch of dull knives were shredding his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah. Here.” She shook two pills into his hand, then disappeared briefly to get a glass of water. 

“What is this?”

“It’s Naproxen. Prescription med that my super-awesome hacking skills got for you two, because you’d be completely lost without me.” She shoved the water glass into his hand. “Drink.”

Sam drank.

“Thanks, Charlie. You’re a lifesaver.” He uncurled from his position on the floor to reach up and give her an awkward hug.

“...boobs,” she squeaked, as he did so. He quickly released her and placed a protective arm over his chest.

“Yeah, they’re weird. Sorry.”

Charlie flushed a brilliant red. "Lesbian here. You've never been hot before. Where’s Dean?”

Sam was a little bit taken aback by the sudden change of subject, but he figured it was reasonable. Charlie definitely wouldn't want to talk about Sam's unexpected hotness, because neither of them were romantically interested in the other, and Dean would want some of the magic pills too. “Uh, last I saw him he was in his room cursing at his pad.” Holy fuck, that had to be one of the weirdest sentences he’d ever said.

He was still coming to terms with the whole being female thing. It was  _ weird _ , okay? Sam had always been undeniably masculine, what with the height and the muscles and all that. He’d worked really hard to cultivate that intimidating figure; given their line of work it was handy. Now, he was smaller, and softer all over, and there was  _ blood coming out of him. _ And his lesbian friend who he regarded like a little sister kept blushing when she looked at his chest.

From down the hallway he heard a peal of Charlie’s laughter, followed by the grumpy rumble of Dean’s voice. Hoping that his brother was having more trouble coping than Sam was, because he didn’t want to be freaking out when nobody else was, Sam focused on the conversation they were having. 

“Oh my God, Dean.” Charlie was practically wheezing with laughter. Obviously, Dean had done something stupid, which made Sam feel marginally better about how a vicious cramp had left him, one of the best hunters in the continental United States, crumpled on the floor of their library for Charlie to rescue.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” That was Dean.

“It’s common sense, Dean, honestly. The sticky side goes on your panties, not on you. Now, I’ll be right back.” Sam took a moment to chuckle at that - he could just imagine Dean’s face. 

“Saaaaaam!” Dean was calling for him, so he hauled himself up from the floor, winced and clamped his legs together as things happened in his panties as a direct result of the motion, and marched over to Dean’s room.

“What?”

“Dude, we left the pad instructions in that bathroom. How do you do it?” Dean was sitting on his bed, staring down at his crotch like he was expecting it to bite him.

“Dean, did you-”

“Shut up.”

“Put the sticky side-”

“Shut up!”

“On your-”

“Sam, for the love of fuck!”

Okay, okay. Sam could tell when he was about to push his brother too far. “You unwrap it and put the sticky side on your panties and wrap the little wings around.” He broke off as he felt a dull twinge in his stomach, but it seemed like the meds were helping to keep the pain in check. Now, instead of feeling like a lot of knives shredding his abdomen, it felt like one, singular blade slicing slowly into him. 

And Sam knew what that actually felt like, so he felt fully justified in the comparison.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and “Oh, Dean! What the hell? Dude, you gotta go do that in the bathroom.”

After Dean had been corrected on the application of pads, and Charlie had returned with water for Dean to take some of the pills too, she chivvied them both into their living room.

“Sit,” she said imperiously, pointing at the couch.

They sat.

She scurried around the room, plugging in two heating pads and plopping them down on the respective Winchester stomachs that were in need of them. “It helps with cramps,” she said, as she wrestled with their ancient DVD player.

Sam situated the heating pad under his shirt and sighed in relief when the heat sunk into his skin. It felt better almost immediately.

Charlie returned with the chocolate and settled herself in between them on the couch. “We’re watching Star Wars, because Star Wars is awesome, but not the prequels, because the prequels are not awesome.”

Sam thought he heard Dean agreeing, but he was already falling asleep from a combination of heat, medication, and sudden lack of stress.


	11. In Which Sam Struggles With Tampons And We Discover SOMETHING Happened Between Dean And Cas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new revelation comes out, Sam tries to give good advice, and Charlie is a woman on a mission!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> One, I just re-read Twist and Shout and now I am in PAIN please send help I've been crying for an hour  
> Two, can y'all tell I'm hopelessly in love with Charlie Bradbury? Because I totally am, and I want to write a one-shot from her POV but she's so haaaaarrrrd to get right

Sam woke up alone on the couch. Given the time, Charlie had probably retreated to her own room, and Dean had done the same. Having thoroughly established that he was by himself, he jumped when he heard a “Hello, Sam,” from behind him.

“Cas! Hey, man. What’s up?”

Cas was giving off even more awkward vibes than usual. “I would like to speak with you.”

“All right, man, c’mere. Have a seat.” Sam was mostly awake by this point, so he scooted over (oh shit he was gonna have to change his pad soon) and patted the couch next to him. The angel looked almost pathetically grateful as he took the offered seat. “So, what’s bugging you?”

“Dean.” The word was torn from Cas’ throat reluctantly, as his stare practically bored holes in the opposite wall.

Sam was instantly on alert. “Has he been dragging you to strip clubs again? I can tell him to back off.”

“That… is not it.” Cas picked at the sleeve of his trench coat. “I would like to pursue a romantic relationship with him, but I do not know if he is agreeable to that.”

Well, of all the things Sam was expecting to hear, that wasn’t it. He may have done a discrete fist pump, though, because Jesus, it was about fucking time. “I’m sure he’s agreeable, man. Just, uh, try not to freak him out?”

“That is what I am asking you for help with.” Cas isn’t meeting his eyes, and is fidgeting rather more than an angel usually would.

Well, Sam could probably help with that. “Okay, so the first thing you need to understand is that there was a lot wrong with the way our Dad raised us, and as a result, Dean’s kept himself pretty closeted. He’s female now, so using his screwy logic, that makes it okay for him to get closer to you.” He paused and looked over at Cas. “But once he turns back, he’s probably gonna be wary again. You saw the way he reacted before this whole mess happened when I found out he batted for both teams?”

Cas nodded wordlessly. He’s twisting his fingers around now, and looking very uncomfortable.

“Just show him that you lo-care for him, and he’ll eventually figure out that you’re telling the truth.” Sam thought for a minute, then added “And that I don’t want to disown him.” He studied Cas’ face, hoping that he’d said something right.

Cas looked awfully conflicted.

“You alright there?” Sam tamped down his rising concern.

“Dean kissed me,” the angel blurted out.

Sam blinked, then blinked again. Then shook his head to clear his thoughts, because it sounded like Cas had said that Dean had kissed him, and Sam was pretty sure he would have noticed that.

“Sorry, what?”

“Dean kissed me. While you were unconscious in the hotel room after we got you out of the hospital.” Cas stared at his hands, looking upset.

Sam was pretty sure he was too tired for this. “Uh… congratulations?”

Cas turned mournful eyes on him. “Then he shoved me away and told me to leave. I told you I was being called upon for aid by my brother Gabriel. I lied.”

Well, that was a lot to parse through. “It’s okay, Cas. Dean will come around. Believe me, he likes you as much as you like him. And, uh, don’t worry about the lying thing. It’s cool.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas said softly, and then vanished.

***

By noon, Sam had gone through two more pads and another pill. He’d also read on the internet that exercising helped with cramps, so he’d decided to go for a run. He’d made it half a mile before he was doubled over, clutching his abdomen and cursing.

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have done anything that required the insertion of a tampon. He limped back to the bunker and flopped down on the couch next to Charlie, whining at her about how much it hurt.

“Did you put it in right?” she asked, glancing over her book in a concerned sort of way. Charlie had been wonderful, helping the brothers navigate new territory, dispensing pain pills, and teaching Dean how to wear a bra properly.

“I followed all the directions.” Jesus fuck, it hurt. It burned. He could feel it inside him and he didn’t like it.

“Okay, go in the bathroom and use your fingers to make sure it’s all straightened out and not crooked.” She ran one hand over his sweaty hair in a comforting gesture. “You’re gonna be okay. Just don’t try to pull it out. Dry tampon coming out hurts like hell.”

Sam went to the bathroom and shucked off his pants. He stared at the string dangling from inside him. He really didn’t like this.

He poked the tampon tentatively, wincing when it shifted. He poked it again with a bit more vigor, and then yelped in pain. It hurt worse than it had before! Experimentally, he tugged on the string, and promptly bit back a long stream of curses. In an instant, Charlie was on the other side of the bathroom door.

“Sam? Talk to me. Are you okay?” She sounded concerned.

“M’fine. Fuck.” Sam pushed it fully back in and suddenly, the pain disappeared. Huh. Maybe he’d gotten it in straight that time.

“You tried to pull it out, didn’t you.”

“Maybe. Hey, when I get out of here, can I talk to you?” Sam had an idea. It was probably a terrible idea, but it was an idea, and Sam hoped it would work.

“Sure thing. Do I need to be prepared for anything in particular? You’re not gonna ask me how to have lesbian sex, are you?”

“No! No offense, Charlie, but you’re like my little sister.” Sam was leaning against the sink, psyching himself to stand up all the way, hoping that the tampon didn’t shift and cause him more pain.

“Oh, thank god. Because I had to explain how scissoring worked to Dean this morning, and it was hella awkward.” She tapped her palm against the door a couple of times, then, “I’ll be in the kitchen whenever you wanna talk.”

Fifteen minutes (and one lecture on why nobody, but nobody, was sexier than Princess Leia) later, Charlie had been filled in on the entire situation, and she and Sam were sitting at the kitchen table eating grilled cheese sandwiches and mapping out a game plan. Dean was presumably still in his room struggling with cramps and watching Die Hard.

Charlie pushed her chair back from the table with a screech and stood up, clapping her hands triumphantly. “All right, Sam. Operation Teach Dean It’s Okay To Be Gay is a go. We’ll initiate step one after you finish lunch.”


	12. In Which The Author Realizes She Is Bad At Story Planning And Does Not Know How To Get From Point A To Point B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Sam are conspiring, but, unsurprisingly, they're not very good at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. This chapter may contain some mild spoilers (nothing big) for A Single Man on Netflix. If you haven't seen it, you should see it, because it's amazing, and you will cry. Also, on an unrelated to the story note, I recommend The Trial Of The Chicago 7, also on Netflix :)
> 
> Also this one is a short one, because finals are kicking my butt... sorry

Operation Teach Dean It’s Okay To Be Gay started reasonably well. Sam and Charlie invaded Dean’s room with chocolate and a heating pad to find the man (woman?) curled into a ball of blankets, something with lots of explosions playing on screen.

“Dean,” Sam said, softly. He didn’t want to spook his brother and have him lash out like he often did when he was in pain. And he looked to be in a lot of pain, much more than Sam was.

Having reminded himself of the tampon he had in, Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Dean, we brought chocolate.”

Dean made a grumbling noise.

Charlie ducked under Sam’s arm and went to sit on Dean’s bed. She stroked his hair gently. “Dean? Based on what you told me, and my experiences with a friend who had it, I think you may have endometriosis, or something similar.”

Dean sat bolt upright, then winced and moaned in pain. “Am I gonna die?”

“No! No, lie back down, it’s okay. It just means that some of the tissue that’s supposed to be growing inside your uterus is growing outside of it instead. It won’t kill you, it just hurts.” Charlie guided Dean back onto his pillow, then set about getting him set up with a heating pad.

Sam briefly thanked whatever god had made sure he and his Winchester luck had avoided the curse of endometriosis, then remembered he had a role to play. He sat down on Dean’s bed, chuckling when the chocolate he was carrying was immediately snatched out of his hands. Charlie, having plugged in the heating pad, sat on Dean’s other side, squishing all three of them onto the bed.

Dean, placated with chocolate and pinned between his brother and his best friend, visibly resigned himself to the continued invasion of his room.

Then Charlie cut off the movie that was playing, which looked to be nearly finished anyway, and navigated to the Netflix home screen. “How about A Single Man?” She asked. “I’ve heard it’s really, really good.”

Dean snuggled further into the blankets, focusing his energy on absorbing the body heat from his two bedmates, and reached up to feed Sam a bite of chocolate.

Charlie took that as a yes, and hit play.

***

In retrospect, they probably should have done a little bit more preparation for step one of Operation Teach Dean It’s Okay To Be Gay, and selected a movie that, while showing a gay man’s relationship, hadn’t made them all cry as much as that one did.

They sat in silence as the film ended, Sam struggling to hold back tears. Next to him, Dean was losing the battle, and he could hear Charlie hiccupping softly on Dean’s other side.

“Okay,” Sam said, and lunged for the remote. “We need a pick-me-up after that. Time for Queer Eye.”

Dean’s head appeared out of the blanket nest, trying (and failing) to suspiciously eye both Sam and Charlie at once. “If I didn’t know you guys better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.”

Sam and Charlie made eye contact over Dean’s head, vowing to implement Step Two as soon as they finished this episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. If you think you have endometriosis, go to a doctor. You don't get to zap out of your body and never have to deal with it again like Dean does.


	13. In Which Sudden And Unexpected Arguments Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase Two of the plan is enacted... but Dean's reaction is shocking to all involved.  
> Then Cas is called upon to become a co-conspirator...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! Please note that this chapter contains some homophobic language (the word f*g is used twice) so be prepared for that. If you don't want to read this chapter because of that, just shout at me in the comments and I'll summarize it for you :)

The episode was wrapping up when Charlie used the cover of Sam’s even-longer-than-usual hair to shield some quick typing on her phone from Dean. Obviously, she was preparing for the next phase.

This was, Sam pointed out, an entirely fruitless endeavor, because Dean was mostly asleep. Charlie just shushed him and petted his hair. Then, “Dude. What are you  _ doing _ to your poor hair?”

“The same thing I did to it when I was a dude. Why?”

“Well you have a lot more hair than that now, and you really need a haircut. You’ve got split ends!”

Split ends were, apparently, the bane of Charlie’s existence, and by the time she finished telling Sam about all the ways he was single handedly brutally murdering his hair, Dean was blinking awake and groaning in pain.

“Dean!” Sam yelped, glad to escape the hair-related horror stories. “How are you feeling?”

“M’okay,” Dean said. “I could use a refill on the hot water bottle, though.”

Sam got up to refill the bottle, once again thanking his lucky stars that he didn’t have it nearly as bad as Dean did, while Charlie sympathetically shook a couple of pills out of the pill bottle and offered them to Dean.

When Sam got back with the hot water bottle, Charlie’s chattering was in full swing, just as they had planned. “-still in absolute  _ awe  _ of the elf maiden I met a couple of years ago cosplaying, she was just perfect.” he heard.

He got Dean settled in with the hot water bottle pressed to his abdomen, then hauled himself back up on the bed.

Then he got distracted by his boobs, which bounced as he moved, which really fucking hurt because they were swollen.

Because Sam was on his period.

Which, by the way, he really wasn’t enjoying. And it was kind of a mindfuck every time he thought about it. God, he missed his dick.

He realized he’d gotten caught up in his own mind when Charlie’s story about all of her very lesbian love affairs came to an end and she nudged him in the ribs, mouthing “one, two, three, go!” over Dean’s head.

Right on time, and exactly as planned, his phone dinged. Charlie, thrilled that her plotting had worked, came in with her line perfectly. “Ooh, who’s that? Been hiding a girl somewhere?”

Sam chuckled. It sounded forced to him, but would probably fool Dean, who was looking at him intently. He pulled out his phone and made a point of checking the message; a winky face from Charlie. “Not, uh, not exactly. It’s Liam.”

Dean perked up, making a swipe for the phone which Sam easily deflected. “Just Liam. He’s a friend from Stanford. Wants to know if I’m in the area.”

Charlie chimed in then. “Why does he wanna know, anyway?”

Sam scratched the back of his neck, trying to act like he didn’t really want to say. “Pleeeease,” wheedled Charlie, then gently nudged Dean. 

Dean joined in. “Yeah, Sammy, you been holding out on me?”

“He’s just… Liam. We hooked up a few times; this is a booty call.” Sam tried, without much success, to make himself blush. He wasn’t exactly lying, he and a frat boy named Liam (or something like that) had drunkenly hooked up once. He and Charlie were just… putting a spin on the story.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to elaborate any more than that. Dean had already shot up, dislodging the hot water bottle completely, and nearly elbowing Charlie in the face. “What?” He demanded.

“Chill, man. He just wants to hook up.”

Dean looked around like some evil creature might be listening in. Then he leaned closer to Sam and hissed, “But he’s a guy!”

Sam nodded blandly. “Yep.Come to think of it, he had a  _ really  _ nice dick.” Sam had no idea what Liam’s dick had looked like. Sam barely remembered any of their single encounter at all. Sam was completely blowing smoke out of his ass, and hoping Dean didn’t call him on it.

Dean didn’t call him on it. Instead, Dean got pissed. “You mean to tell me you’re a fag? After the way Dad raised us? Are you insane?” He was working himself up into a fine froth, and Sam actually leaned away from his brother, his arm coming up to shield himself from a punch he wasn’t sure Dean wouldn’t throw.

This was not going as anticipated. Dean was supposed to hear about Sam’s supposed bisexuality and realize it was okay for him to like Cas. Dean was flailing around, trying to find words, when Charlie snatched his waving arms and pinned them to his sides with steely resolve.

Then she straddled him on the bed, holding him down further, angry face an inch away from his. “In what world,” she growled, “Is it okay for you to use that word? And to your own brother, no less!”

Dean abruptly stopped trying to buck her off, and settled in to listen. Sam scrunched back against the pillows, absently massaging his sore boob.

So sue him; it still hurt.

Charlie continued, and Sam couldn’t help but admire her fiery spirit. Not many people would dare get up in Dean’s face like that. “There is nothing wrong with girls liking girls, or guys liking guys, or any combination thereof.” She was getting louder. “Or did you forget that I was a  _ fag _ , too?” The last sentence was spit out with such venom that Dean flinched away from her.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He turned to Sam as much as he could under his Charlie-imposed captivity. “Sorry, Sammy. Hey, why are you playing with yourself?”

“S’okay,” Sam said, easing his hand out of his shirt. 

Charlie climbed off of Dean. “I understand that your father held certain views, but you need to learn to let that go.”

***

After the disastrous second part of the plan, Sam and Charlie decided to lay low for a few days. They left Dean to his hibernation, because he was spectacularly grouchy at them while also somehow appearing repentant and bashful.

He looked like a kicked, soaking wet puppy until your chair screeched on the floor, at which point he started jumping down people’s throats.

Sam’s period ended the next day, for which he was very glad. When he sought out Charlie in the library to tell her, though, she hugged him in congratulations and then sat him down at the library table. “You’re gonna call Cas, and I’m gonna tell you what to say,” she instructed.

Sam pulled out his phone in preparation, then tugged angrily on his bra strap, which kept slipping down his arm.

It seemed Phase Three of The Plan had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go forth, be happy, stay safe, and stay tuned!


	14. In Which The Reason For Dean's Continued Internalized Homophobia Is Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Dean have a little chat, Dean is convinced of something ridiculous, and a certain trench-coated someone shows up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long, y'all! Please don't hate me?

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam sat back in the chair and eyed Charlie, who was bouncing with excitement. “So, uh, you remember our conversation the other day?”

He hears a soft exhale over the phone. Cas had sighed. Someone, probably Dean, had taught the angel to sigh. “Yes, Sam, I do. That would be the one where I informed you that I harbored romantic feelings toward your brother?”

Wow, dude sure had a way with words. “Yeah, that’s the one. Let me bring you up to speed on what Charlie and I have been working on, and then let you know what we need you to do.”

***

While Sam talked to Cas, Charlie edged back into Dean’s room. She stood in the doorway and looked at the rumpled bed. No Dean.

She checked the kitchen. No Dean.

The garage? Still no Dean.

She eventually ran smack into him as he walked out of the bathroom. “Hey,” he said. “Period’s gone. And, uh, I’m sorry, Again.”

“Come on, handmaiden.” Charlie tugged Dean back into his room and shoved him down on the bed, then sat next to him. She had to come up with a way to gently address Dean’s deep-rooted issues without letting him escape.

She saw him eyeing the door, and lunged to lay across his chest. “Okay,” she panted, trying to pin down various flailing limbs. “We are going to have a talk, and we are going to have it now.”

Underneath her, Dean stilled and one baleful green eye peered up at her. “Stop squishing my boobs, and we can talk.”

“Right, yeah.” Charlie removed herself from the boobs in question, sent them one last longing look, then got down to business. “Dean, you’ve heard from Sam before that he doesn’t care if you like girls, guys, or tentacle monsters.”

“Hey,” Dean exclaimed, righteously indignant. “The tentacle monster was  _ one time _ and I didn’t mean to. Also, how do you know this?”

Charlie decided not to try to interpret the whole tentacle monster debacle. “Sam and I talk, you know how it is,” she answered vaguely. Then, when Dean looked like he really wanted to demand more answers, she hurried on. “So, you heard it then, you’ve had time to get used to it. What brought on this latest explosion?”

Dean mumbled something, picking at the sheet twisted and bunched underneath his hands.

“I didn’t quite catch that.” Charlie moved closer and put a comforting hand on Dean’s arm. “Hey, man, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

“I, uh.” Dean wouldn’t meet her eyes. He was hunching in, curling around himself. He looked almost ashamed. “I believed Sam. That it was okay to be… this way. And, uh, believing that got us both turned into chicks.”

Charlie blinked at him a couple of times, trying to parse that logic. “I’m not making the connection here.”

“This is the universe telling me that only chicks should like dick. It’s obvious!” Dean was windmilling his arms around, getting himself more and more worked up as Charlie looked on in amazement. “And Sam got caught up in it too, and this whole thing is my fault for believing him, and I- I brought this on us.”

He sounded utterly miserable, and more than looked the part. His hair was a mess, all tangled and snarled, and his eyes were rimmed in red.

Of course, Charlie burst out laughing at him.

He glared at her indignantly until she pulled herself together enough to say, “Oh my  _ God _ , Dean, that’s really not how this works. The spell doing this was just chance, brought on by bad timing and loose magic.”

Dean looked petulant in her general direction. “Nothing in our lives ever happens by chance.”

“Dude, come on. It could happen to anyone. It didn’t happen because you suddenly decided to accept being… bisexual?” He nodded in confirmation. “Okay, bisexual. You didn’t cause any great power of the universe to suddenly want to smite you and your brother. I promise.”

Dean didn’t look fully convinced, but he was getting there. 

“Okay, you know what? Fine. I’m gonna let Cas take over convincing you of that.”

Cas!” Dean yelped. “Cas is here?”

“He will be soon,” Charlie said, edging closer to the distraught hunter. He looked like he needed a shoulder to lean on, or possibly a straightjacket. “It’s gonna be fine, man.”

“No!” Dean was panicking. Charlie reached out and grabbed him in a hug, trying to keep him from even more aimless flailing.

“It’s- going- to- be- fine!” She grunted as she struggled to keep him still. “Will you just hear him out!”

“I can’t!” He answered. “Charles, the last time I saw him I kissed him and then drove him away! He’s not gonna want to see me.” He lay still, having thoroughly exhausted his flailing abilities. Then, “C’mon, Charles. You can stop squishing my boobs now, I ain’t going nowhere.”

Charlie peeled herself off of Dean’s torso and stomach, shaking out a hand that had gotten minorly crushed in the scuffle. “Dude, if you could sit still and listen to me for half a second, we could avoid all the strenuous exertion.”

Dean’s retort trailed off into nothing as a knock sounded on his open doorframe. They both turned to see Cas standing there looking nearly unbearably awkward, with Sam standing behind him and chivvying him into the room. “Okay,” Sam announced. “Charlie and I are gonna go… out, and you two are going to fucking talk, or so help me I will chain you both together and sit you in the dungeon until you do.”

“Ooh,” said Charlie thoughtfully as she climbed off the bed and went to stand by Sam. “The dungeon. Why didn’t we do that earlier?”

Her voice faded away as the door swung closed, with brother and feisty redhead on one side of it, and angel on the other. Cas was still standing just inside the doorway, looking very unsure of himself. Dean cleared his throat. “Um, hey.”

“Hello, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! If you liked it please drop me a kudos or a comment! Love y'all!


	15. In Which There Is A Gentle Kiss, And Sam Unexpectedly Gets Whammied With Love At First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean have a chat, and Charlie forces Sam to have fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey wayward_sherlock, this is for you. Now stop making us both sad. Please

“So,” Dean said. “How’s it going?”

“May I come in?” Cas asked, then did so anyway.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean responded, scooting over on the bed so Cas could sit. “Uh, we should probably talk.”

There was nothing Dean wanted to do less. He figured Cas was probably upset with him, and with good reason, and he didn’t want to do or say anything to further mess up their already complicated relationship.

Then Cas sat down next to him and his brain abruptly stopped spinning in circles. “I care for you deeply, Dean,” Cas told him.

Fuck. This was it. Dean had been an asshole one too many times and Cas wasn’t gonna want him anymore, if he’d even done so in the first place, and… And Cas was still talking.

“I understand that my vessel being male gives you pause, and you were only able to get up the courage to kiss me before because you were in a female body, and that you seem to believe that you having feelings for me in the first place is what led to you and Sam being temporarily transformed into female bodies. Am I correct so far?” Cas was facing Dean, speaking earnestly and patiently.

“Well. When you put it like that it seems kind of ridiculous, and- hey! How do you know all that anyway?” Dean was doing what Dean did best: deflecting.

“Sam let me take a quick peek at his memories and the conclusions he drew before I came in here. And it sounds ridiculous because it is ridiculous. Correlation does not equal causation, Dean.” Cas shifted a little bit closer, and put one hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean leaned into the touch. “I guess I was being kind of ridiculous. And an asshole, and I’m sorry. I, uh, I can’t promise that I won’t trip up and make mistakes, but I’m gonna work on, you know, being more… okay… with, uh, that.”

“I think I would like to kiss you again,” Cas said. “Provided you won’t push me away again this time. May I?”

Dean had a very short and very intense internal battle, then decisively nodded his head yes. Then he had a sharp moment of panic when Cas leaned in and placed his palm on Dean’s cheek.

“Relax, Dean,” he murmured. “You can tell me to stop at any time.” Then his lips were gently brushing Dean’s, a tentative kiss that lasted barely a second before Cas pulled back and smiled softly at him.

Shockingly, the world didn’t end.

It was definitely different from kissing a woman, Dean thought. The size and strength of the hand still cradling his face spoke to that, as did the broad shoulders his hands had somehow found a resting place on.

Dean half expected the ghost of John Winchester to appear out of nowhere, raining fire and brimstone down on his head like an avenging angel.

Then he remembered that there was already an avenging angel in the room, and  _ he _ was looking hopefully at Dean like he was expecting another kiss, and hell, what could it hurt?

The second time, Dean was the one who leaned in.

***

“Okay,” Charlie said. “So we’re gonna let the two dumbasses talk and hope they don’t burn the bunker down in our absence?”

Sam nodded agreeably.

“You know what that means, right?”

“Uh, no. What does it mean?” Sam could see a glint in Charlie’s eye.

“It means, Sam, that there is a geek bar in Lawrence holding an event tonight, and I-” she spun in a giddy circle and fluffed out her hair, “Am going to go flirt with beautiful geeky women. And you’re going to be my wingman. Wingwoman. Whatever, I’m going to go get dressed and so are you. Shoo!”

She fluttered off down the hallway, bouncing in excitement, and leaving Sam with the distinct feeling that he’d just been signed up for something he wasn’t entirely sure he could manage. “Charlie,” he called after her, “What do I even wear?”

***

Apparently he wore black jeans and a weird, corset-type of top. “I use something like this for LARPing,” Charlie explained as she laced him into it, both of them crammed into the tiny dressing room at the Lawrence boutique she’d dragged him to.

Sam had sighed and let her drag him around, and sure enough, he was starting to have fun.

Or, he was sure he’d be having fun as soon as he could breathe again. “Charles,” he wheezed. “Too tight.”

“Sorry!” She chirped, and loosened the laces. “There, good. Look in the mirror?”

The mirror showed a curvy, pretty woman dressed in clothes that flattered her figure, and just a hint of makeup that Charlie had had to sit on him to get on.

Sam looked  _ pretty _ , and he told Charlie as much. She’d nodded smugly, smacked his butt, and led him to the register to pay, then out of the boutique and down the street a few blocks to the club.

At the club, Charlie immediately immersed herself in a group of people chatting about the benefits of various RPGs, leaving Sam to sidle up to the bar and order a Grey Gandalf. Whatever the fuck that was.

Evidently it contained Grey Goose vodka, though, which Sam was not expecting. He spluttered and bent forward, shaking his head to try to clear the unexpected punch to his tongue away. In doing so, he bumped into a pretty woman who was also standing at the bar.

Her long brown hair, curled in ringlets, swished around her shoulders as she turned to face him, and Sam was suddenly and unexpectedly mesmerized by it.

Jesus, how much vodka had he had?

“Hello,” the woman said, cocking her head at him.

“Uh, hi,” he stammered.

She looked at him in confusion. “I’m deaf,” she said, “But I can usually read lips. Could you maybe speak a little clearer? Sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam agreed. “So, how are you liking the event?”

She shrugged and laughed, leaning back against the bar. “I don’t usually go in for this sort of thing. My friend Gilda dragged me here.” She gestured at a woman across the room.”

“Same here,” Sam said. “Actually, I think that’s my Charlie your Gilda is, uh… making out with.”

She laughed. “I’m Eileen. Eileen Leahy.”

He shook her proffered hand. “Sam, Sam Winchester.”

Eileen froze. “Sam Winchester?”

“Uh?”

“Do you have a brother named Dean?” She was staring intently at him. Fuck, had he managed to flirt with one of Dean’s previous conquests? Well, denying it would get him nowhere.

“Yeah, yes. I do. Do you know him?”

“No offense, but you guys are kinda famous in the hunter community. Somehow I always thought you were a dude though.” She awkwardly twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. “Uh, sorry about that.”

“W-What? Oh, yeah, no, I’m usually a dude. Just ran afoul of some witches a while back. Should be back to normal soon, though.” Sam wanted to flirt with her. Should he flirt with her? Would it be too weird?

Charlie came bounding over, Gilda in tow. “Hey, Sam, Gilda and I are gonna head out for a bit, you good to take care of yourself?”

Sam blinked frantically at her, trying to convey an urgent sense of I-want-to-flirt-with-this-woman-but-I’m-temporarily-a-girl-and-now-I-don’t-know-how. Surely Charlie could help him?

“Are you okay?” She asked. “Your eye is kind of twitchy.”

“She’ll be fine,” Eileen cut in. “I’ll take care of her.”


	16. Everyone Is In Love With Their Respective People, And Dean Has A Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is finally happy... but will the curse on the Winchesters throw them for one last loop?

Sam’s brain short-circuited.

If he’d had the mental capacity, he’d say it was like the static on a television with a bad connection.

He gaped at Eileen, who was still chatting with Charlie and Gilda. That had sounded suspiciously like  _ flirting _ , and Sam just didn’t know how to process that.

Also, Eileen was really pretty. And she was apparently a hunter, so totally a badass. And - he glanced back over at the conversation - she had an amazing laugh, and holy fuck Sam didn’t know how to deal with this.

The last time he’d short-circuited when talking to a girl, it had been the first time he’d met Jess.

He was still pondering that when Charlie and Gilda left, and Eileen grabbed his hand to drag him over to a booth tucked away in a corner. “So,” she said, leaning in and looking at him. “What’s the absolute weirdest hunt you’ve ever been on?”

“Guh?” Sam managed.

“Once I had this possessed teacup that gave all the users chapped lips. Probably the most benign vengeful spirit ever.” She chuckled, mirth dancing in those gorgeous, expressive eyes, and Sam was absolutely transfixed.

Belatedly, he processed what she was actually saying and chuckled.

“Uh, this one time we got sent into an alternate universe where we were actors playing us, like real-us, on a TV show. It was bizarre.”

“Wait, so in some universe out there there’s a TV show based on your life? That must’ve been so weird.” She was leaning toward him, evidently already invested in the story. “Tell me more?”

He took a sip of his Grey Gandalf. “Well, uh, other-me was named Jared Padalecki.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Yeah. Other Dean was  _ Jensen _ , and - get this - in that world, they weren’t related. And they hated each other.”

“Wow, that’s definitely a big change. So, do you think there’s more parallel universes out there?”

“Well, I’ve got this book written by one of the Men of Letters that hypothesizes…” Sam settled back into the seat, thoroughly enjoying the conversation and the company.

***

When Sam and Eileen pulled up at the bunker the next morning, they were surprised to find Charlie and Gilda already installed in the kitchen, eating scrambled eggs across from a barely awake Cas. Dean stood at the stove, frying bacon.

“Great,” Dean grumbled when Sam made his presence known. “Just bring half the world back to our top secret bunker, why don’t you?”

“Hi Dean,” Sam said diplomatically. “This is Eileen, she’s a hunter, and after breakfast I’m gonna show her the library.”

From behind him, Eileen gave a small wave. “That’s  _ the  _ Dean Winchester?”

At the stove, Dean burped and scratched his stomach.

“Yup,” Sam confirmed.

“And you’re really  _ the  _ Sam Winchester.”

“Mhm.”

“And you live in a top secret bunker.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Can I have some eggs?”

***

Gilda and Eileen took off later that day, promising to keep in touch, and life in the bunker returned to normal for a few days. Sam and Charlie had movie marathons and generally goofed off, both of them enjoying the brief respite from world-threatening events, while Cas and Dean got used to their new relationship dynamic.

Loudly.

All over the bunker.

On the bright side, Sam thought as he taught Charlie to throw knives, Dean seemed to have gotten over his aversion to being anything but straight, and he and Charlie had a double date with Gilda and Eileen when the duo was back in town.

***

When their transformation back into their male bodies was just a couple of days away, a mood of general oh-thank-god suffused the bunker.

Also, Sam and Eileen texted almost daily, a fact which he enjoyed greatly and Charlie enjoyed teasing him about.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said to her one evening. “It’s not like you and Gilda don’t do the same.”

She conceded the point with a gracious nod. “Yes, but Gilda and I are true lesbians. You, my friend, are usually male and have no business moving that fast.”

He flapped a hand at her weakly from his position on the couch. “You know the whole thing with lesbians moving so fast is just an urban myth, right?”

Charlie tossed the TV remote to Dean and Cas, who were snuggled up on the other couch and being disgustingly affectionate and adorable at each other. Then she turned back to Sam. “Come on, Sam, just let me be happy with my fast-paced love at first sight.”

“So you love her, huh?” he asked as he poked her side. She squirmed away from him, giggling, and he poked harder. “Are you ticklish, Charlie?”

“Ye-es,” she laughed, “But don’t think this is getting you out of telling me about you and Eileen.”

“We text a lot, I like her, I think she likes me, we’ll go from there.” Sam tried to indicate that they should pay attention to the movie instead of his love life.

Onscreen, a woman was staring sadly at a negative pregnancy test, which Sam figured would probably be relevant later on in the movie when the blowing stuff up started. “Hey Charlie,” he said. “What d’you think would happen if I got knocked up now ? Would I still change back into a dude? Would the baby just disappear?” It was, now that he thought about it, a fascinating concept. Maybe there were some books in the library that had some insight there.

“I dunno, man, why? You planning on making some baby Winchesters?”

Sam was formulating a reply about how, if there were gonna be baby Winchesters, they sure weren’t gonna be growing inside him, when Dean sat bolt upright on the other couch and quietly said “Oh,  _ fuck _ .”

“What is it, love?” asked Cas, ever attentive. Privately, Sam thought Dean enjoyed the pampering.

“Baby Winchesters! Cas, we- we forgot to use protection!”

Minor pandemonium promptly erupted. Charlie was babbling gibberish, Dean was freaking out, Cas was trying to calm everybody down, and Sam was having a tiny bit of an existential crisis. He lived in a world where the sentence ‘My older brother may have gotten knocked up by an angel of the Lord’ actually made sense. 

What the fuck even was his life?

Then the implications of the whole mess hit him and he started freaking out, too.

Finally, Charlie yelled for everyone to sit down and shut up, and they all dropped back into their seats. “Okay, now that we’re all calm,” she said, looking around the room.

They were not all calm, but they were all quiet, and she continued.

“Cas, can you pregnancy check Dean?”

Cas shook his head, troubled. “The warding on his ribs prevents me doing so. Plus the child would be a Nephilim, meaning it would instinctively shield itself from the touch of my grace.”

Dean was turning a fascinating shade of green, and Sam moved to sling a comforting arm around him.

Charlie, being Charlie, had a plan. “Right. We need a pregnancy test.”

***

After much confusion and debating, it was agreed that everyone would go on the expedition (for moral support) and that they would travel in the Impala, because Dean didn’t like getting zapped with angel mojo.

They all piled into the car, Sam and Charlie in the backseat and Dean behind the wheel where he belonged, and set out for the nearest gas station.

Cas and Dean went in to get the test, but came back tenser and more despondent than before. “Weren’t any left,” Dean said, his clipped tone giving away just how worried he really was. “We’ll try the drugstore.”

***

Dean’s mind was whirling as he drove. What if he was pregnant? What would he do? What would happen to his baby when he changed back? 

What if Cas didn’t want a kid?

Dean turned to look at Cas, who was peering out the window, and grabbed his hand. Instantly, the angel turned to him and began running his thumb over Dean’s knuckles in a soothing motion. “It will be all right, Dean,” he murmured, and Dean almost believed him.

***

Back at the bunker, Sam watched anxiously as Dean fidgeted around. If he didn’t know his brother so well, he’d guess he was stalling.

Maybe he was stalling.

“Go pee on the stick, man,” Sam told him gently.

Exhaling heavily through his nose, Dean disappeared into the bathroom, presumably to go pee on the stick.

When he exited later, they all turned to him. “Gotta wait two minutes,” he muttered, then walked over to Cas and faceplanted in the angel’s shoulder.

Cas’ arms immediately came up to encircle him, rubbing his back gently. Then Charlie stepped over and engulfed both of them in a reassuring hug, and so of course Sam did too.

It was the longest two minutes of Sam’s life, he couldn’t imagine how Dean was feeling, until finally it was time for Dean to check the test.

“Okay,” Dean said, obviously psyching himself up. “Okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

Then he reached out and picked up the test.


	17. Holy Shit, Fucking Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise...

“Negative,” Dean said. “Thank god.” Then he dragged Cas away, presumably to do some unholy, sacrilegious things, and Sam and Charlie returned to their geeking out over assorted fandoms.

On the morning of the day they were supposed to change back, Eileen texted Sam and they set up a date for the next time she’d be passing through town, so when they all gathered in the bunker dungeon (just in case), Sam was practically dancing on cloud nine.

Charlie was there with her phone, fully prepared to video the transformation for future blackmail purposes and also, she grudgingly admitted, research, and Cas was there with Dean.

“You guys should probably put on guy clothes,” Charlie pointed out, “Or you’re gonna have some problems when you get all bulky and muscular again.”

Acknowledging the truth of her suggestion, and realizing that if their calculations were correct they had just under two minutes left before the transformation, Sam and Dean rushed to drape themselves in their clothes, currently laughably big on them.

Then a flash of light engulfed them both, Sam felt very dizzy for a minute, then he was yelling in pain as he got hit with possibly the worst growing pains of all time. He felt his bones rearranging and shifting, his body stretching and growing, and then the light vanished and he collapsed onto the dungeon floor, very much back in his male body. “Oh thank  _ God _ ,” he said fervently, grabbing his junk just to make sure it was all there and in working order.

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” roared the pile of cloth to his left, and Sam squinted at it.

That wasn’t a pile of clothing. That was Dean, who was standing up and looking very angry indeed.

“I have  _ tits _ ,” Dean glowed at their little group. “Why do I still have tits?”

***

They were going on their eleventh hour in the library trying to figure out why Dean’s testosterone had completely deserted him, when Sam had a truly worrisome idea.

“Charlie,” he whispered to the redhead, who was engrossed in a thick tome detailing all the ways magic tied to lunar cycles. 

She didn’t hear him.

“Charlie,” he hissed, trying not to attract undue attention from Dean or Cas. There was no need to worry them just yet.

“Mmm?”

He jerked his head, trying to indicate that she should come sit next to him so they could talk quietly.

“Dude,” she told him quietly. “You look like you’ve got really bad acid reflux. What’s up?”

Sam gave up on his covert communication attempts and leaned over the table. “Charlie, how long do you have to wait after sex for a pregnancy test to display the true results?”

“I’m a lesbian, how the hell would I- oh. Oh, shit.” His point dawned on her and her mouth fell open. “So you think- Dean’s still- because he- there’s a-”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded grimly, then looked over to where Cas was trying to soothe a rampaging Dean. “Now how do we tell him?”

“Dean!” Charlie called cheerfully, waving him over as Sam tried to stop her.

“What’s up,” he asked as he stormed over. “Do we have a way for me to change back?”

“Yup!” she confirmed, nodding happily. “You should become male again after you give birth!”

“I’m sorry, after I WHAT?”

***

The expected nuclear fallout happened about exactly how Sam had predicted it would, and once Dean had finished exploding and had fast-forwarded through the five stages of grief to arrive at acceptance, they all settled in to eat some pie and try to make sense of everything.

“Is a baby with me such a bad thing, Dean?” Cas asked, tentatively cradling his lover as Dean grumpily ate pie.

“No,” Dean admitted. 

“You did always want a family,” Sam pointed out.

“I can get you guys all the documents you’d need to retire from hunting and settle down somewhere,” Charlie chipped in.

Dean, who had been wavering, capitulated in the face of such earnest, devoted love from his family. “Well,” he said, smiling down at the hand Cas had resting protectively on his abdomen, “I always favored the name Jack for a son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and then they all lived HAPPILY EVER AFTER, and Sam and Eileen got married and had a kid too, and Charlie and Gilda were happy and badass and taught the kids to sword fight and cool stuff like that, and nobody ever got hurt or died. So there.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will not be regular but they will be frequent


End file.
